Marie Ferrarella - Tall, Strong & Cool Under Fire

Lisa felt her heart hitch. Damn, why did Bryce have to be so direct, so honest? She preferred the word games to facing something right now. Trying her best to remain aloof, she asked, “To what end?”

The question seemed to amuse him. “Mutual enjoyment. From what I gather, you’re not exactly in the market for marriage, either. And I did enjoy that kiss in your kitchen. So what do you say?”

Moving back her chair, Lisa tossed her napkin onto her plate. “For now, I say that I have to get back to the shop.”

“And later?” he pressed.

“Will be later.” Her tone was noncommittal. The response didn’t feel right to her, and she added, “We’ll see.”

“Nothing I like better than a challenge,” Bryce responded.

Lisa bit her lip and remained silent. That was exactly what she was afraid of.

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To all the firefighters in my city, for taking such good care of all of us and making us safe every year.

Thank you.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

“Are you a fireman?”

The high, exuberant voice caught him by surprise, lifting him out of his realm of preoccupation. Turning away from the newly washed fire truck he was facing, Bryce Walker saw her. All three foot one of her. Completely adorable and most assuredly completely out of place.

The glib response on his lips, reserved for ladies far older than this little blond visitor obviously was, died away unspoken. Instead he smiled at her.

The little girl, decked out in soft pink coveralls with white daisies scattered throughout the body of the fabric, stood on the threshold of the fire station, obviously accepting the silent invitation the wide-open doorway extended to wayward travelers. She rocked slightly forward on the balls of her feet, her small hands shoved into her pockets like someone intent on doing nothing more with her morning than shooting the breeze. Her eyes watched him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Why yes, I am.”

Amused, Bryce crossed to her and then got down on one knee in an attempt to lessen the huge difference in their heights. He glanced to either side of the little girl, expecting to see a parent or at least an older sibling hanging back somewhere in the near vicinity.

But there was no one close by, not even any stragglers coming out of the library located directly to the right of the fire station, or eagerly flowing out of the summer school classes being given at the high school located in the center of the long block.

His visitor was apparently alone and very obviously fearless.

On occasion, Bryce gave talks on fire safety at the various local elementary schools located in Bedford, California. The little girl before him looked too young to be attending school. Bryce guessed her to be around four, or perhaps a very small five, though he doubted it. Intelligence shone in her cornflower-blue eyes, opened as wide as the daisies she had on her rompers.

The way she was regarding him told Bryce she thought of him as her equal in every way but height and opportunity. Her eyes darted past him to the truck that was just behind. “Do they let you drive the truck?”

He heard the hopeful note in her voice mingled with a touch of hero worship. The appeal of fire trucks had long since crossed the gender line. Bryce bit back a laugh, thinking of Alex. With three years seniority, the firefighter acted as if the truck was his own private property and would sooner walk over hot coals than allow someone else to touch the steering wheel.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

The little girl nodded her head in a commiserating manner that seemed far older than her obvious tender years. “Mommy won’t let me drive, either.”

It seemed to Bryce the perfect opportunity to initiate a reunion between the wayward child and her mother. “And where is Mommy?”

Leaving him in her wake, the little girl made her way to the fire truck in small, cautious steps, as if the truck wasn’t simply metal and gears, but a living, breathing thing that could be frightened into running off at any second if she wasn’t careful.

“At home.”

Bryce had a feeling that his unannounced visitor was going to be a fetching challenge when she got a little older. He wished any man who lost his heart to her luck. They were going to need it.

Getting up, he followed her slow progress around the vehicle. “And where’s home?”

Pausing, she looked over her shoulder, her expression momentarily sad, as if she was mourning something that had been lost. “Not Dallas anymore.”

He’d thought he’d detected a slight twang to her voice. But knowing her origins didn’t exactly help him at the moment. “And why’s that?”

The sigh she released was enormous. Slowly she made her way around the perimeter of the truck, studying every detail more closely than the fire chief during an impromptu inspection. “We moved.”

She was too young to be coy, though that would have been the word he would have used had she been a teenager. Bryce began to feel as if he was trapped in a children’s program. “To where?”

The little girl ran her hand along the front of the truck and he got the distinct impression she was petting it. “Here.”

Playing along, Bryce looked around, pretending to be mystified at the information. “You live here? In my fire station?”

He was rewarded with a giggle that was so infectious, he had a hard time not laughing along with her. She turned to look at him, her eyes crinkled with humor. “No, silly. In Bedford.”

He’d assumed as much, but it was nice to receive confirmation. At least she wasn’t visiting from out of town. It looked as if he just might finally be getting somewhere. “Do you know where in Bedford?”

She paused, considering his question. “Our house, of course,” she told him as if it were silly to think that there could be any other answer. “Mommy’s and G-mama’s and mine. Mommy said it belongs to all three of us. Equally.” She wrapped her tongue around the last word very slowly, as if careful to get it right.

Bryce noticed she didn’t mention a father and wondered if that meant that Missing Mommy was divorced, or possibly widowed. Or if she’d never been married in the first place. He doubted if the omission was an oversight. The little girl seemed to have an almost incredible grasp of her situation. He knew adults who were less aware of their surroundings than she appeared to be.

Following her as she made her way back to the side of the truck, he tried again. “Do you know your address?”

This time, the expression that met his question was a pint-size composition of frustration. The little girl shook her head. “No. It’s new.”

She seemed so upset that she couldn’t remember it, Bryce felt it best to gloss over the detail. No sense dwelling on it. If Mommy didn’t show up soon to claim her, he had friends on the police force who could help track her down.

“Sometimes,” he commented, “new things are hard to remember.” Holding her hand, he helped her up the steps of the fire truck so that she could get a closer look inside the cab. “Do you know your name?”